


Two Hands (And a House to My Name)

by irisbleufic



Series: No Heart So Hardened [4]
Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Adorkable, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Autistic Character, Canon Disabled Character, Canon Queer Character, Canon Queer Relationship, Classic Movies - Freeform, Developing Relationship, Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Enthusiastic Consent, F/M, Family, Family Feels, Father-Son Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, Injury Recovery, M/M, Major Character Injury, Mother-Son Relationship, Movie Night, Multi, Murder Husbands, Nerdiness, New Relationship, POV Edward Nygma, POV Oswald Cobblepot, Photographs, Relationship Negotiation, Season/Series 01, Sexual Experimentation, Sexual Inexperience, Sharing a Bed, Tailoring, Young Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-20
Updated: 2018-05-20
Packaged: 2019-05-09 14:06:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14717507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/irisbleufic/pseuds/irisbleufic
Summary: “That's my mother's handwriting on the back,” [Oswald] said.  “Did she give this to you at the station?”“The day she turned up looking for you,” Edward said, eyes drifting from the photo to Oswald.“Why was this under your bed?” Oswald asked, his exhausted amusement scarcely contained.





	Two Hands (And a House to My Name)

**One Week Later**

Standing in the space once occupied by his uncomfortable sofa, Edward let his eyes track over the spaces where his hard-won pieces of artwork had hung. The movers Elijah had hired to take his possessions to the mansion had been competent; they hadn’t even protested his exacting supervision when it came to the framed prints and precious antique Singer.

The only things left were suitcases full of their clothing, an old armchair that was staying behind for the next occupant, and Edward’s bed. Oswald lounged on the latter, working on what was left of the Chinese take-away they had ordered.

“This is irrational,” Edward said in response to Oswald’s raised eyebrows, “but I’ll miss it here.”

Oswald gave up on trying to wrangle the last dozen sweet-and-sour-soaked grains of rice, setting the carton aside. He held out his arms, a gesture that made Edward feel marginally better.

“We’ll have our pick of the spare rooms,” he said. “Whichever one you like best, we’ll take.”

Edward climbed onto the foot of the bed, leaning forward to kiss the backs of Oswald’s hands before pushing them down at his sides. He knelt between Oswald’s ankles, massaging them, glancing at Oswald’s right foot. Little visible inflammation remained.

“You have the devil’s luck,” he said, “but I want you to wear the ankle brace that your father’s physician gave you for a lot longer than eight weeks. I’m advising twelve.”

“Whatever it takes to shut you up,” Oswald sighed. “At least I’m rid of the big one. It was hell.”

“I can’t believe he cleared you for that,” Edward replied, digging into Oswald’s tense left instep. “But I’m technically not the expert, and your knee wasn’t as bad as I thought.”

“Are you determined to ignore what everyone is saying?” asked Oswald. “First my father, now one of your _licensed_ professionals? He says you’re the reason it’s doing fine.”

Edward sat back on his heels, releasing Oswald’s feet. How could he even begin to explain?

“I know I’m good at what I do,” he said. “Better than good, probably, but I’m not allowed—”

“You’re allowed to _say_ you’re good at things,” Oswald said, holding out his arms more emphatically. “I want people to know how brilliant you are.”

Edward crept forward on all fours, settling against Oswald’s chest. “Cramped, but I’ll miss it.”

“What do you mean?” Oswald asked, already thoughtfully playing with Edward’s unstyled hair.

Kissing just over Oswald’s heart produced a delightful shiver. “This bed,” Edward clarified.

“I won’t forget, either,” replied Oswald, softly, cradling his cheek. “You look so perfect in it.”

“We’ll have twice the room at your father’s,” Edward said hopefully. “We can…do a lot more.”

Oswald kissed Edward’s forehead, his touch heartbreakingly tender. “What do you want, Ed?”

“The thing I keep asking for,” Edward said with reluctance. “But I’d never forgive myself if—”

“How about we start with the other way around?” Oswald suggested with a hint of mischief.

“Penetration would cause you more pain,” said Edward, shaking his head. “I don't want that.”

“And penetration would also cause _you_ pain, so what's the difference?” Oswald asked.

“Wasn't I clear?” Edward asked. “What I want involves—” he swallowed, easily tempted into another brief kiss “—involves you inside me, and it'll also be easiest on your leg.”

“I understand how it works in theory,” said Oswald, irritably, pushing up against Edward's belly.

Stripping Oswald of his robe and coaxing him to recline against the pillows was easily done, especially since it meant few alterations to his position. He watched Edward strip with lazy hunger, pulling Edward down to straddle his lap as soon as they were both bare.

Edward stroked them both to full hardness with lubricant-coated fingers, enjoying the desperate sounds Oswald made into each deep, frantic kiss. It would have been easy to stay like that, to come gasping into each other's mouths like they'd done so many times already.

“I should finger you now, shouldn't I?” Oswald asked breathlessly, sliding his hand from Edward's waist down and over his ass-cheek to tease at his cleft. “Give me...”

Edward was sure that, in retrospect, it would prove the messiest and most unwise act they could have chosen for their final night together in his apartment. In the moment, however, it was bliss.

“How...many did you....” Edward panted and rocked steadily back onto Oswald's fingers, all shame lost. “I'm... _oh_ , I could...could come if you just...”

“Still just two,” Oswald murmured, kissing his clavicle. “You could come if I kept doing this?”

“If you added another,” Edward said, wondering how on earth he was blushing only _now_.

Oswald withdrew his fingers, carefully complying with Edward's request on re-entry. “There.”

Edward tensed at the discomfort, breathing hard. “Maybe that's the most I can take. For now.”

“Touch me while we do this?” Oswald whispered, finding his pace again. “I love your hands.”

Of all the things that could've pushed him over the edge, that was _not_ the one Edward had been expecting. He sagged in the aftermath, forehead against the cool metal of the bed-frame as he gripped it with his left hand, feverishly working Oswald with his right.

“Fuck,” Oswald whimpered, jerking into Edward's fist as his orgasm hit. “Oh, Ed. _Fuck_.”

Edward wasn't sure whether the cursing was a result of Oswald's pleasure, or if it was related to the sound of something falling behind the bed. Oh, the lube. He was too love-drunk to care.

After they'd cleaned up and dozed for a while, Oswald slipped out of bed and shuffled around.

Edward was too drowsy to sit up and watch his actions, much less open his eyes. He yawned.

Oswald grunted, and the bed-frame shook. He must have used it to pull himself back to his feet.

At that, Edward opened his eyes in time to see Oswald set the lube back on the nightstand and crawl back into bed with something in his hand. Oswald waved it in front of Edward's face.

“That's my mother's handwriting on the back,” he said. “Did she give this to you at the station?”

“The day she turned up looking for you,” Edward said, eyes drifting from the photo to Oswald.

“Why was this under your bed?” Oswald asked, his exhausted amusement scarcely contained.

“Because dealing with your mother and Fish all in one evening was too much, and I was scared for you,” Edward admitted in a rush, hiding his face in the pillow. “Don't mock me.”

Oswald rolled over, presumably to set the photo aside, and then rolled back to cuddle Edward.

“I'm not mocking you, my love,” he murmured in Edward' ear. “I'm flattered that you cared.”

 

**Two Weeks Later**

Eleven days after Oswald, Edward, and Gertrud had taken up residence in the Van Dahl mansion, GCPD ruled that the Coroner could finally release Grace's body to Elijah for cremation. That same day, Elijah purchased return tickets for her children, who he'd deliberately kept in a holding-pattern on their travels in Europe until the investigation was over.

Three days later, Sasha and Charles straggled in looking jet-lagged, bewildered, and aggrieved.

Oswald stood to one side with Edward and his mother, keeping a calming hold on Edward's arm.

“You could've explained why they're here,” said Sasha, reproachfully, while Olga carried her luggage and her brother's upstairs. She was dressed in black like her brother, but with the accent of a teal lattice-patterned scarf at her throat. “It's in bad taste, don't you think?”

Elijah closed the door and sighed, turning to take a much worse-for-wear Charles in his arms.

“Oh, my boy,” he sighed, hugging the young man tightly as he broke down. “I'm so sorry.”

Oswald decided that a touch of diplomacy was in order where the suspicious sibling was concerned. He patted Edward's arm and let go, deciding it couldn't hurt to play up his limp as he approached Sasha. Leaning harder on his cane than was necessary, he extended a hand.

“Ms. Van Dahl, you are the sister I was never lucky enough to have. Ed and I grieve with you.”

Sasha shook Oswald's hand reluctantly, her eyes falling on Edward. “What do you make of this?”

Edward touched Gertrud's shoulder, reluctant to step away, but he took Sasha's hand with resolve.

“I did everything in my power to find your family once Ms. Kapelput had informed us of your father's existence,” he said earnestly. “I didn't know we'd find you, your brother, and your mother, too. I'm heartbroken that your mother's rash actions necessitated Ms. Kapelput to act in self-defense. We had not even gotten the chance to meet her.”

Sasha nodded numbly, giving Oswald a critical look before turning her gaze back on Edward.

“My stepfather says you work for the police,” she said in despair. “Are the reports accurate?”

Oswald watched Edward's exactingly-scripted reaction result in round, luminous eyes behind his glasses. At least some of the emotional recall was genuine; he'd sobbed in Oswald's arms for an hour after they'd returned from Gertrud's apartment on that terrible afternoon.

“They are, although I resigned during the proceedings,” he said tremulously. “I couldn't take it.”

Sasha forgot about Oswald. She took a handkerchief from her pocket and offered it to Edward.

Stepping back in line with his mother while Sasha and Edward continued to speak quietly, Oswald took his mother's hand. So far, she'd been speechless—frozen and afraid.

“Best if we let them handle the PR,” he whispered. “Ed's got a future in micromanagement.”

“That is something you can use,” Gertrud tutted. “Keep your wild fancies under his thumb.”

Meanwhile, Elijah had gotten Charles to calm down sufficiently to make introductions. He brought the young man over to stand before Oswald and Gertrud, an arm around his shoulders.

“Charles, I'd like you to meet your brother,” he said. “This is Oswald and his mother, Gertrud.”

Charles, red-eyed and sniffling, was slightly dazed as he took hold of Oswald's offered hand.

“Nice to meet you,” he said, his voice scratchy. “I can really see the family resemblance.”

“I would do anything to fix this,” said Gertrud, reaching for the distraught boy. “Anything.”

Shockingly, Charles took her up on the offer of a hug and started sobbing all over again.

While Gertrud murmured whatever soothing nonsense to Charles, Elijah pulled Oswald aside.

“I don't want there to be any secrets between us,” he said somberly. “Is there anything else?”

Oswald considered this, deciding that securing Edward's place in the family took precedent.

“Edward and I have decided that marriage might be wise, even if it seems hasty,” he said, unable to interpret Elijah's wide-eyed, wordless response. “And I'd like to ask your blessing.”

“You know that nothing would make me happier than to call him my son, too,” Elijah replied.

“Let's worry about it after the memorial,” Oswald said, the words forced out as Elijah embraced him. “Your kids have enough to deal with.”

“You are my only true blood relative,” Elijah replied, his voice hushed, “and I will not forget it.”

Unable to summon tears, Oswald knew that he could do worse than remain with his face buried against his father's lapel for longer than necessary. The hands that finally came to rest on his shoulders were familiar; he would have recognized Edward's grasp even in death.

“We should retire upstairs,” Edward said, coaxing him away from Elijah. “Oswald isn't good at telling me when he's in pain, but I recognize the signs.”

“We'd appreciate some time with Father,” Sasha cut in. “So we can...get to know Gertrud, too.”

Charles had stopped crying again, his bleary gaze fixed once more on Oswald. “Can I come?”

“I can't concentrate if I'm observed while tending his injury,” Edward said hastily, already leading Oswald toward the stairs. “Maybe later?”

“Charles, don't be a baby,” said Sasha, grabbing his wrist. “We have a lot to discuss with Dad.”

Gertrud followed them to the top of the stairs, despite the fact that Sasha had strongly implied she should stay. She hugged them each in turn, patting Edward's cheek proudly.

“If I had needed lawyer, is you I would choose,” she said softly. “I go back. You must rest.”

In their bedroom—the master suite, offered freely to them after years of disuse—Oswald sat against the lush pile of pillows while Edward removed his ankle brace. Ritual was comforting.

“Sasha might've taken a shine to me,” Edward mused. “Not so much attraction as fascinated pity. I can tell she thinks I might be in danger, having taken up with you and your mother.”

“I'm hesitant to tell you what kind of shine Charles appears to have taken to me,” Oswald said.

Edward leaned in and kissed him, tugging his quilt up from the foot of the bed. “That's useful.”

Oswald blinked at him in confusion as Edward got them situated under the quilt. “How so?”

“If Charles has a thing for you, he'll be easier for us to manipulate,” Edward said. “In case Sasha tries to cause trouble for us. If he's on our side, she won't have a leg to stand on.”

“I refuse to flirt with my stepbrother,” Oswald insisted. “I'm a criminal, but I have standards.”

“You won't have to flirt with him,” Edward chuckled, hugging him tightly. “Just be yourself.”

“True,” Oswald sighed, pressing his cheek against Edward's chest. “That's all it took with you.”

“Actually, that's not true,” Edward reminded him, rearranging Oswald's hair. “You flirted a lot.”

Oswald looked up at him, speechless at the sight of Edward's smile. He never wanted to see anything else on waking for as long as he lived, and that sentiment was enough.

“How would you feel about marrying me,” he asked, his throat tightening, “and very soon?”

“I can bring you joy, sorrow, or anything in between,” said Edward, almost too quickly for comfort. “None have seen, smelled, or felt me, yet everyone knows what I am. I come in many forms, but I am really just one thing. What am I?”

“I don't know what to say to that, Ed,” Oswald said shakily, clinging to him. “Please translate.”

“Music,” Edward said, grinning. “For the reception. As long as I get to pick, my answer is yes.”

 

**Three Weeks Later**

Once all of Grace's affairs were settled and her ashes interred, Sasha had demanded an upscale residence in the city for herself and her brother. Elijah, understanding the pain they experienced in realizing that he loved Gertrud far more than he loved their mother, had agreed.

“It's an incredibly beautiful building,” Edward said, shielding his eyes as he peered up through wind and rain at its four-story height. “I investigated a crime scene there once.”

“Such luxury, and still they must fight,” Gertrud marveled, hanging on his arm. “Was it death?”

“Murder-suicide,” Edward said, leading her along. “Husband killed his wife, and then himself.”

Gertrud was silent until they reached the meeting point they'd agreed on with Elijah's new driver.

“So strange it is, to know I have done like the man in the film,” she said, thoughtfully subdued.

“You could argue he did it twice, both times by accident,” Edward agreed. “He might have handed Haskell too many pills, thereby causing an overdose. The strangling, _well_.”

“It is difficult to believe a telephone cord could do this,” said Gertrud, dubiously. “Could it?”

Edward shrugged, attempting to clear the tickle in his throat, opening his umbrella over them as the drizzle intensified. He scrutinized traffic, wondering if that was why the driver was late.

“Anything is possible as long as circumstances align,” he said, shrugging. “But it's unlikely.”

“Is unlikely as getting away with what I have done,” said Gertrud, darkly. “Did someone pay?”

Edward met her solemn gaze, realizing he wouldn't be able to get out of answering this one.

“If I were to tell you Elijah paid off the police,” he asked, “would you have him take it back?”

“No,” Gertrud sighed, patting Edward's arm. “Never. For my Oswald's sake, and also for you.”

Closing his eyes tightly, Edward tucked her fragile, fierce hand closer to his chest. His throat hurt, and he had no idea whether it was the rain or that he was feeling overwhelmed.

“Neither of my parents would ever have done something like that to protect me,” he said softly.

“Oswald tells me what they have done,” said Gertrud, with vehement spite. “Such cruel beasts.”

“My father was the monster,” Edward agreed, nodding tersely. “My mother went along with it.”

“They are gone, Edward,” said Gertrud, the press of her fingers grounding him. “You are safe.”

Edward nodded, opening his eyes as Elijah's best town car pulled up to the curb. With Oswald's ruthlessness and the Van Dahl fortune, they were safer than most souls in Gotham. He opened the back door for Gertrud as soon as he heard it click open, helping her inside.

“Hey there,” said Ms. Fowler, catching Edward's eyes in the rearview mirror. “That didn't take as long as I thought. 'Bout fell over when I got your text. What did you see?”

“ _Detour_ ,” said Edward, assisting Gertrud with her seatbelt. “It was released in 1945.”

“City Screen's good at oldies,” replied the driver. “Used to hit up Saturday night shows myself.”

“Less talking,” sighed Gertrud, slumping dramatically against Edward's shoulder. “I am tired.”

“Whatever you say,” Ms. Fowler agreed, accelerating as the traffic began to ease. “Buckle up,” she added, pointing a finger at Edward in the mirror. “You don't sound so hot, Mr. N.”

“It's only the chill,” Edward muttered, seeing grudgingly to his seatbelt. “I'm sure I'll be fine.”

Back at the mansion, Gertrud prevented Olga from taking their coats straight to the hall closet.

“Once you do this,” she said, keeping a hold on Edward's arm as he removed his shoes, “meet me in kitchen. Edward is not well. I show you how to make tea for this.”

“It is different from regular?” Olga asked, and then followed it with a statement in Russian.

Edward was so surprised to hear Gertrud respond in Olga's language that he almost tipped over in the endeavor of removing his remaining shoe. He raced to the sitting room in his socks.

Oswald was reading in front of the fire, his ankle propped on a pillow that he'd set on the coffee table. It made Edward wince to think of the strain it must be putting on his knee.

“How was it?” Oswald said, setting the book aside, tugging at Edward's wrist until he sat down.

“About getting away with murder,” Edward said, stifling a cough. “You might've enjoyed it.”

“Thanks for taking her to the movies,” Oswald said, settling Edward into the curve of his arm.

“I know you're not that interested,” Edward said, shrugging. “Fortunately, I am. It works out.”

“You don't sound very well,” said Oswald, concerned. “Were you stuck in the rain for too long?”

“My throat started to feel sore this morning,” said Edward, defeated. “It's slowly getting worse.”

“Now I know what Mom's doing in the kitchen,” Oswald said. “Not just any tea she's making.”

Edward kissed Oswald's cheek, hesitant to initiate other contact if he was indeed getting sick.

“I feel better now that I'm home,” he sighed, closing his eyes in contentment, “but I'll drink it.”

 

**Four Weeks Later**

On finally trudging up to Elijah's workspace, Oswald understood why delaying the visit until his leg was in better shape had been advisable. The main staircase was chore enough, and the staircase from the second floor into the turret was steeper still.

Edward was already there with his father, modeling a near-finished ensemble in muted green gabardine. He turned as Oswald entered, unashamedly preening.

“I could get used to this,” said Edward, brushing at one of the chalk-marks on his lapel. “Thoughts?”

“Very handsome,” Oswald said, kissing Edward's free hand. “How long has this been in the works?”

“A few weeks,” said Elijah, tugging at the hem of Edward's jacket. “He wanted to surprise you.”

“What's the occasion?” Oswald teased, taking both of Edward's hands. “Running for office?”

“If I'm going to marry you before spring is out,” Edward said, “I can't do it in any of my old clothes.”

“Don't think you've escaped my clutches,” said Elijah, fetching two bolts of fabric that he'd propped along the wall. “I thought you might have a look at these. They're Italian.”

Oswald ran his fingers covetously across the fine charcoal pinstripe, nodding in agreement.

“Your taste is impeccable. And thank you for not letting Edward choose anything...garish.”

“Hey,” Edward protested, stepping off the fitting block. “I know that weddings require restraint.”

“We'll start on your measurements,” Elijah said to Oswald, putting the bolts back down. “Step up.”

Edward helped Oswald onto the block, and then took a seat. He was happy remain in his suit.

“Your great-great grandfather, Manfred, brought tailoring with him from the Netherlands,” Elijah explained, already spreading his tape-measure across Oswald's shoulders. “We served the elite of Gotham, upstanding and morally dubious alike. Even if I never opened a shop of my own, I'm grateful to my father for teaching me his trade.”

“Quite impressive,” Oswald remarked, distracted by Edward slipping out of his jacket so that the close-fitting waistcoat that Elijah had put him in was on full display. “That is, I...”

Edward smirked at him, unbuttoning his cuffs so he could roll up his sleeves. “Warm,” he said.

Elijah peered out from behind Oswald, making eye contact with Edward. “Hanger's over here.”

Thanking him with a nod, Edward got up and hung the jacket. He paused in front of Oswald while Elijah went on measuring, taking Oswald's hands just as Oswald had taken his.

“It's not every day you get the height advantage,” said Edward, subtly coy. “How does it feel?”

“Strange, if I'm honest,” Oswald said, bushing his thumbs over the backs of Edward's hands.

“Enjoy it while it lasts,” Edward said, tipping his chin up the marginal amount required to reach.

Oswald kissed him in spite of Elijah's protests for him to keep still, startled out of it by the sound of footsteps on the stairs. There were only two people it could be, and still his heart pounded.

“So nicely it comes along,” Gertrud remarked to Edward, leaning against the wall. “Finished?”

“Not yet,” Edward said, tightening his hold on Oswald's hands. “This one's just getting started.”

“Another month at most,” Elijah promised, jotting down measurements. “Both ready by April.”

Gertrud beamed at Oswald and Elijah in turn, but it was on Edward that her eyes came to rest.

“It is not sad like the story you tell,” she said. “You do not have to fly from us. You will stay.”


End file.
